The Fine Line
by Aaya123Woods
Summary: As they say, there is a fine line between love and hate. Bellamy and Clarke, however, didn't think they'd cross it. Series of unrelated drabbles, a collab with emmamanic. Spoilers inside up to and including the season finale because OH MY GOD I am still trying to process it.
1. Can't Be Dead

Oh, God.

She doesn't get it.

What just happened?

She is in a white room. It's neat, clean, pure.

One day ago, she would have given anything to live in this room. Now, she would give anything to get out.

She needs to find them.

She has already stopped pounding at the door, trying to scream at Monty. It's obvious that the doors are soundproof.

Her inquisitive mind should be spinning with questions: what's the quarantine for? Is this why they didn't land on Mount Weather in the first place? Who are these people? How did they get this technology? It's not, though.

She needs to find them. She needs to fix this.

She needs to know if Bellamy is dead.

If she killed him.

He can't be. She can't be responsible for his charred skeleton.

She can't add his to the skeletons clicking around in her closet.

She sinks to the floor.

Oh, God.

They can't be dead.

They can't be dead.

They can't be dead.

He can't be dead.

Clarke repeats it until the words blur together, losing all hope in them.


	2. Pain

Bellamy was pretty sure he'd never been in worse pain.

Every breath was torture, there was blood pouring out of the wound in his chest, and there was dirt rubbing into a hole in his back.

He glanced up and saw Clarke's familiar blonde hair slipping into the drop ship.

They were all safe.

He heaved himself, an inch at a time, into the trees. That rocket fuel was powerful stuff, and as grounders thundered past him, he smirked in the idea that they would all be burned to ashes.

For a second, he thought about stopping, about being burned with them.

That was irony.

A monster, dying in fire right before he went to hell.

_No,_ he told himself firmly. _Come on. Say it._

"Octavia," he muttered. Blood dripped from his mouth. He figured the grounder had got him in the lung.

Stupid grounder.

"Octavia. Live for her." To his surprise, he said another name, too. "Clarke. Live for her."

He dragged himself a little farther. He heard a female voice.

"No!" It was feral, desperate.

He pulled, almost groaning in pain.

He saw Clarke standing next to him.

_Come on, Bellamy. You can do it. You've been doing great so far._ Her voice was encouraging, but with a hard note in it that made him try to move faster. This was unfamiliar. He normally motivated himself with stinging insults and belittling.

_Bellamy, move. The door is closed and if you don't want to burn to death then you better hurry._

"I do," he moaned quietly. The pain was overwhelming, his vision clouding with spots as blood pulsed out of his wound and mouth. It was excruciating. "I do, I do, I deserve this, just let me go, it hurts." He wasn't sure if he was talking about the wound or something else.

Clarke's voice was ridiculously soothing.

_Bellamy. I'm alive, Octavia's alive, Jasper's alive. There are almost fifty of us. We're all alive. You've kept us that way. You don't deserve to die. I'm not going to let you die._

He felt warm, slightly chapped lips press against his damp forehead.

"Okay," he panted. He moved into the trees and let out a raspy cry of pain. Just in time.

He felt a hot blast of wind buffet his face. The fuel had exploded.

Bellamy turned his attention to his agonizing wound. He wouldn't last much longer like this. He tried to yell, but was cut short by the pain.

Oh, God, it hurt so badly.

Something red clouded around him. He frowned, confused. It didn't look like he was blacking out, and it smelled like smoke.

The last thing he heard before he was dragged away and put unconscious was his imaginary Clarke, saying, _I told you, Bellamy. You're going to live._

_Not because I was strong,_ he thought. _It's because of you._


	3. Different

She has always been different.

She has always been different from the other idiots in this place, the ones that follow him like sheep.

She fascinates him, and maybe that's why his eyes follow her whenever she's nearby.

She's kind and sensible and intelligent and _goddamn_ she's beautiful.

She's independent, strong, unattainable, and this is also part of the reason she draws his gaze.

She also hates him.

Like he said, she has always been different.


	4. Promises

When Clarke met Bellamy, it was aggravating.

How could it not be?

He was arrogant, selfish, stood for everything she hated.

He took control of the hundred immediately. Bellamy was a natural born leader, and he was going to lead the teenagers to hell and back again.

Clarke was along for the ride.

_(she never notices the warmth that runs down her spine when he looks at her)_

When Clarke met Finn, it was immediate.

How could it not be?

His smile was mischievous and carefree, his eyes joyful and sweet. His heart lay openly on his sleeve, offering fleeting kisses

_(and first loves)_

and a thousand whispered promises.

He could win her over in a moment, making her forget her responsibilities and her chores and her friends

_(her very identity)_

with a simple kiss.

Clarke had honestly thought that maybe, just maybe, he could be her rock.

When Clarke met Raven, it was devastating.

How could it not be?

To see a girl that she didn't know

_(a girl that was much prettier than she was)_

kissing Finn like he was hers.

Finn _was_ Raven's, though.

The boy with his head in the clouds had never been Clarke's.

Clarke stared at them kissing.

_(a thousand broken promises)_

When Clarke kissed Bellamy, it was wonderful.

How could it not be?

They hadn't been arguing, for once, and then she'd been falling asleep. Bellamy leaned over and kissed her.

She thought that maybe all of the the light of the sun ran through them.

In him, Clarke felt everything he had done wrong and she willed all his guilt to melt

_(because she hurts when he does)_

and he burned away the bad things, everything.

He made no promises, asked for nothing,

_(but he already had her heart, and what else could he take)_

just allowed them to lie there and take it in.

Clarke promised him something, and he asked her what she was promising.

_(she is promising herself to him)_

And Bellamy shook his head knowingly,

_(tells her not to make promises you can't keep)_

she accepted that.

They took it one day at a time.

After all, promises were only worth something if they were shown through time.

_(they show each other for months and years and decades)_

And finally, Clarke had her promised one.


	5. Dreams

Bellamy wakes up, sweating bullets. Okay, maybe wakes up isn't the best term. More like shoots up at the speed of lightning. It's the dream- a new one, a recurring one, that makes him embarrassed and needy and yeah, hot.

The one about his damn princess.

It always starts out so innocently- this time, he'd been asking her something about a map, when suddenly, their eyes had locked and he was pulling off his coat and she was pulling off hers and then they were all tongue and mouth and hands until he couldn't take it any more and then they were skin and teeth and chests.  
At that point, he thought it best they retire to his tent because he wasn't damn well stopping when Clarke pulled off her shirt and then it wasn't retiring, it was running. And then- well, they both fell asleep that night exhausted.

And these dreams are so real, though, in real life, his princess would never do anything so scandalous, never waste her time with something so damn _satisfying._ Bellamy rolls over, convinced he can get a couple more hours of sleep before he needs to get up, when he sees a flash of blonde, and there she is, the princess herself, in his bed.

Suddenly, everything's in technicolor- her hair, her lips, so freakin' bright against that backdrop, her smile, curved in her sleep, the memories of last night flash before his eyes.

_Hmm,_ Bellamy thinks as he pulls her in and settles back to sleep._ I guess it wasn't a dream after all._

Of course, you won't hear him complaining.

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**Hello, lovely readers! This wonderful little drabble was by emmamanic. She writes some freaking awesome Bellarke, check out her page for more.**

**Review!**


	6. The Fourth Time, Part I

The first time he noticed her, she was with a guy.

Of course, the fact that she seemed taken never stopped him. But neither of them ever left each others' sides, and he never got the opportunity.

The second time he noticed her, she was alone.

Normally, he'd have set down his drink and swaggered up to her and they would've been in bed within the hour, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the sad expression on her face, or the fact that she didn't even buy a drink. She just sat at the bar, tracing imaginary pictures into the counter. At the end of the night, he was wasted and she seemed to be over whatever had been plaguing her.

The third time he noticed her, she was with another girl with tanned skin and dark hair.

They seemed to be having fun, laughing and talking. He just snuck glances at her every so often. She fascinated him, the way she radiated strength and stability. He kind of wished he knew her. God knew he needed strength and stability in his life.

The fourth time he noticed her, she was frustrated.

Her brow was furrowed, and she kept swirling her drink with a toothpick.

Before he could lose his nerve or get stupid drunk, he stood and walked over.

"Bellamy Blake. Can I buy you a drink?

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**Come ON, guys. Review! There are twenty-six followers. Twenty-six (thank you for following, by the way. You're awesome, all of you). Only one has bothered to review. Chapters are going to slow a lot if there aren't more.**


	7. The Fourth Time, Part ll

The first time she talked to him, he looked worn out.

Not sad, exactly. Just sick and tired of the mess of his life.

He bought her a drink. She accepted gratefully, thinking that a one-night stand would distract her from the mess of her own life. To her surprise, they didn't end up having sex. Instead, he annoyed the hell out of her and she threw a glass at him. Shame. He had been hot.

The second time she talked to him, he was sporting a girl in a tank top and booty shorts on his arm.

She had meant to apologize, but his attitude and condescending smiles irritated her to no end, and they had a screaming match in front of the whole bar.

The third time she talked to him, he was miserable.

His forehead rested on the countertop, one hand cradling his drink. He began telling her his story, his voice breaking every so often. She stayed still and silent, not daring to move for fear he'd realize who he was being so vulnerable with.

He got way too drunk, and she pulled him up and dragged him out the door. He was half-unconscious, leaning on her and mumbling incomprehensibly. Maybe it was the fact that he was almost crying, or maybe it was that he was holding on to her like a lifeline, or maybe she just liked arguing with him, but whatever the reason, she drove him to her own apartment and dumped him on her couch.

The fourth time she talked to him, he was hungover.

He woke up at almost eleven, gave her a smirk, and asked for scrambled eggs and Tylenol.

She walked over to him and handed him a glass of orange juice, two pills, and his car keys. She shoved him out the door. Just as he stepped out the door, though, she stopped him.

He turned. She kissed his cheek. Then she closed the door.

He smiled at the closed door. "Nicely done, Clarke Griffin.


	8. Lunch Break

Raven's cleaning a gun barrel when she walks up to Clarke. Clarke's separating medical supplies into First-Aid kits, because there's a war coming and she's going to be prepared, These kids... they're all she has left. Raven sits down next to Clarke on a log and keeps cleaning the barrel.

"So, what's up with you and Bellamy?" It's so casual, Clarke doesn't even register the words as entering dangerous territory.

"Besides fighting and leading, nothing, I guess. Why?" Clarke answers without really thinking about it- sort of like her script. She hasn't looked up from her separate piles.

"Sure." Raven's response is drawn out, and finally, Clarke realizes what she's implying, and turns to look at her. Raven's rubbing the cloth on the metal as if all of this is perfectly normal.

"What are you talking about, Raven?" Raven shrugs, pulling another barrel out of her pocket and starting on it.

"I've just seen the looks you guys send each other- and you work so well together.. I don't know, your relationship has changed, a lot." Clarke's about to respond when Bellamy walks up, food packet in hand.

"Here," he says as he hands it to Clarke, "You never took a lunch break." Clarke can't help but smile when she takes it.

"Thanks, Bellamy." He smiles back.

"No problem, princess. Now, get back to work!" Bellamy leaves with a smirk and she rolls her eyes, setting the food aside while she picks up her growing pile of kits. She glances over at Raven, who's smiling knowledgeably.

"What now?" She says, sounding annoyed but she's not, really.

Raven looks up. "Would he bring anyone else lunch? Anyone else at all? I didn't break for lunch either, but he was watching you, Clarke." Clarke shakes her head.

"No, Raven, you've got it all wrong." When Raven's knowing smile doesn't falter, Clarke tries the age-old route

"Oh, shut up!" And promptly leaves, taking the kits and food with her. Raven watches Bellamy's eyes follow Clarke all the way to the med bay.

"Yep," she says, finishing the polish with a flourish, "Nothing at all." Hm- maybe she'll try Bellamy next.

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**So sorry I haven't updated in forever. Actually, NO I'M NOT BECAUSE THERE ARE FIVE REVIEWS. MORE REVIEWS=MORE DRABBLES. Also, this one is by emmamanic. *canned cheers***


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